It wasn’t. I spun the doorknob and flung myself out of the room. Behind me there was a loud resounding THWANNNG! Mr Caulkiss’s last cast had speared the wood of the door.
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Forty-Eight
I rushed along the corridor, heading towards the front of the house. I wasn’t really thinking about where I was going. But when I turned the corner into the hall, I skidded instantly to a halt. There at the far end of the hall was the light of a lantern. Melestrina Quode was coming downstairs.
I took it all in at a glance. My best chance was to hide in the opening on the other side of the hall, where the steps led down to the cellar. As Melestrina swung around from the stairs and into the hall, I skipped across the hall and plunged into the darkness of the opening.
But the darkness betrayed me. I failed to see the start of the steps. I trod suddenly on empty space, lost my footing and tumbled over sidewards. Like a human sled I went sliding down the steps all the way to the bottom. Bump-bump-bump! At the bottom I collided with a mighty crash against the cellar door.
For a moment all the breath was knocked out of me. I lay there leaning against the door, waiting for Melestrina to appear at the top of the steps. But someone else acted first. Suddenly the door opened up behind me. I found myself falling forward into the cellar, flat on the floor.
“Oh it’s you Mr Smythe! I thought I heard someone knock!”
I stared up into the tiny doll-like face of Craylene Caulkiss. She gave me a bright pink smile. “Do come in!” she cried. “Move your legs and I’ll close the door!”
Still flat on my back, I twisted my legs out of the way. She swung the door shut with a slam. I took a look around. The cellar was like a fairy grotto, lit by the flickering flames of a dozen and more candles. Dark brick arches loomed overhead, supported on dark brick piers. Around the sides, I could just make out the shadowy shapes of bags and bottles and boxes. Frowsy smells of grain and fermentation filled the air. The floor of the cellar was mere beaten earth.
“I knew you’d come,” she chirrupped. “Of course, of course, of course!”
“Why?”
“Because you want to find a commitment!” She nodded her head back and forth. “The others are committed in their own ways too, but not so committed as me! I knew I’d be the one you’d turn to!”
She clapped her hands together like a delighted schoolgirl. A cloud of powder puffed out all around her.
“Come on then! Over here! This is where they are!”
Reluctantly I rose to my feet. The arches were too low for me to stand fully upright, and I had to stoop my head. I followed her across the cellar, threading a path between the piers.
She was tremendously excited. She kept making skittish little runs ahead of me. But when we came to the centre of the cellar, suddenly she stopped. She raised a finger to her lips.
“Hush now! They’re resting! We mustn’t disturb them!”
In the centre of the cellar there were half a dozen candles arranged in a circle around a stack of old wooden crates. The crates were blackened with creosote and padded with rags. Some were open at the front, others were closed off with wire netting like chicken coops. I guessed that this was where Craylene kept her so-called ‘Little Ones’.
She went forward on tiptoe, while I kept well to the rear. I expected to hear the savage sounds of carnivorous animals break forth at any moment. I remembered the big hunk of raw meat that she had been carrying down to the cellar. But no sound came from the crates.
“Come closer,” said Craylene, beckoning. “I’ll introduce you to Hugo.”
I went up closer. The ground around the crates was strewn with strange white flakes, very dry and soft. White flakes of Craylene’s make-up, I realized – the long-term deposit from all her tiny sheddings. It was like confetti.
“You’ll love Hugo,” she said. “Only don’t make any sudden movements. He’s not used to strangers.”
She bent down and peered into one of the open crates. I bent down behind her. But it was too dark to see anything at the back of the crate. At the front of the crate was a dish containing a raw red strip of steak.
“He’s sleeping,” she said fondly. “Let’s leave him. We’ll say hello to Trixie instead.”
She turned to another of the crates. This one was layered with straw and closed off with wire netting. She lifted the bottom of the netting and slid her hand inside. She seemed to be patting something.
“Hello Trixie,” she said in a whisper. “Here’s a nice new friend for you.”
By now I was becoming curious. She withdrew her hand and I stepped forward. I brought my eye right up against the netting and took a good long look. Again there was a dish with a piece of raw meat in it – a lamb chop this time. But I couldn’t see anything else, unless it was hiding under the straw. Nor were there any sounds of rustling or breathing.
“She’s a little bit shy,” Craylene murmured in my ear. “Put in your hand and give her a pat.”
“No thanks,” I said, drawing back. I still wasn’t going to risk having my fingers bitten off.
“Oh Mr Smythe! I do believe you’re shy too!” She gave me a very arch look. “Come over here then! Come and meet Casper and Big Boy!”
She took hold of my elbow. Her hand was like a tiny bird’s claw. She pulled me along to yet another crate. This one was at the very top of the stack.
“Here we are! Casper and Big Boy aren’t so shy! Not shy at all! Such fat cheeky things that they are!”
I didn’t look into the crate straight away. First I picked up one of the candles from the floor. I was determined to uncover the truth about these Little Ones, once and for all. I held the candle up to the crate and peered into every corner. This time there was no doubt about it. There was nothing inside except a couple of sausages sitting on a large white plate.
“It’s empty,” I said. “There’s nothing inside but a couple of sausages.”
“Yes, yes!” tittered Craylene. “Casper and Big Boy!”
“What?”
“Casper is the one lying stretched out on his side! See? And Big Boy is curled up around him!”
“You mean –?”
“Oh naughty, naughty!” she exclaimed suddenly. “You really are too bold! Just for that I shall have to tickle you to death!”
I realized that she was talking not to me but the sausages. She reached in a hand and lifted them off the plate. They were still strung together. She laid them out across the wrist of her other hand, letting their ends dangle down on either side. Then she started to tickle them.
“Oh! Oh!” she squealed, skitttering about and making the sausages twitch and quiver. “Aren’t they shameless! They’re liking it! Oh dear, oh dear!”
She continued tickling and skittering and squealing until she was quite out of breath. “Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!” she tsked at Casper and Big Boy, with loving disapproval.
Then she bent down and lowered them into a different crate. Here there was no plate but an enamel bowl filled with water. Very gently she arranged the two sausages so that their unjoined ends were just dipping into the water.
“Now it’s time for them to wash their faces,” she explained. “This is their bathroom. Then I’ll put them into their play room.” She pointed to another crate that was littered with rags and small chips of wood. “They can have a special frisk tonight, before they go back to bed.”
“Your Little Ones,” I said slowly, “are sausages and pieces of raw meat?”
She nodded brightly.
“You must be insane,” I said.
She giggled and clapped her hands. “Silly silly Mr Smythe! Of course I am! That’s my commitment!”
“Being insane?”
“Totally irrecoverably insane!” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “Non compos mentis!”
I could hardly believe my ears. But when I looked into her face I knew it was true. Her eyes were scarcely even human – more like the fixed blue eyes of a doll. The amazin
g thing was that I’d never realized it before.
“You should try it too, Mr Smythe,” she twittered. “You’ll be surprised how it feels! Just let yourself go! Unburden! It doesn’t hurt! You can do anything at all when you know you’re insane. It’s such a relief, you can’t imagine!”
She gave me an encouraging smile, putting her rows of little white teeth on display. Then she turned to another crate, reached in, and brought out a large leg of pork. There was a ruffed paper frill around its shank.
“This is Jojo!” she announced. “She’ll help you to make a commitment. Don’t you think she’s a beauty? Look how pink and healthy! Just right for you!”
She held the pork up under her chin and stroked it lovingly. A red trickle of blood appeared on the dry powdery skin of her neck.
“Are you ready?” She looked across at me roguishly, from under lowered eyelashes. “I’m sure you’ve got some really wonderful madness inside you, Mr Smythe! Just waiting to come out!”
Suddenly she swung the pork off her shoulder and passed it across to me. Automatically I clasped it in my arms.
“Oh yes! What a lovely couple you make!” cried Craylene. “You can see how she likes you already! Only be very gentle with her, Mr Smythe! She’s still terribly young and innocent, even though she’s such a big girl. Why don’t you put your hand around her underside? Like this!”
She adjusted the position of the pork in my arms.
“That’s better! Now you’re really making a commitment! Isn’t it good to be able to act like this? Our Lord will be so pleased when He returns! He understands, you know! He understands what it is to be helplessly mad! And He loves us for it too! We are the apple of His eye!”
I stared at her in a sort of frozen horror. Her voice was so sugary and insidious. It was worse than the worst of Mr Caulkiss’s rantings and ragings.
“And when He returns,” she went on, “He will lead us out beyond the forest to a world full of meat! A million million chumps and forequarters, tenderloins and rib cuts! Everything we want will be granted! Then we shall be able to play forever and ever and – ”
That did it. Suddenly I snapped out of my frozen state. I opened my arms, and let Jojo drop to the ground with a thud. Then I turned on my heel and fled without another word. Wildly I rushed between the piers, heading for the door. Behind me I could hear Craylene uttering little clucking consoling noises. I think she was trying to soothe Jojo, after her tumble to the floor.
I burst out of the cellar and raced up the steps. I had no idea of where I was going – so long as it was away from Craylene and her terrible insanity. But at the top of the steps another surprise awaited me.
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Forty-Nine
It was Melestrina Quode. She was standing in the niche where the coatstand had been. She was utterly immobile. She seemed to be straining forwards with her hips and backwards with her shoulders. She was wearing only her underwear. I goggled. It was a mind-numbing sight.
At first she held the lantern directly above her head, so that her lower regions were hidden in shadow. The illumination spotlighted her hair and face and massive naked shoulders. She had her eyelids fixed in a hooded languid look and her lips half-parted in an expression of passionate expectation.
Then she started to move – but only her arm. Slowly she lowered the lantern. The light travelled across her enormous bosom. Her brassiere was of the old-fashioned kind, with heavily elasticated ribs and stiffeners. But the peaks of the cups had been cut away, allowing her stupendous nipples to stand forth. They must have been at least two inches long. As I watched, they seemed to flex and stiffen in a beckoning kind of way.
Then the lantern descended again. Now I could see her drawers and suspenders and fishnet stockings. Her drawers were of scarlet silk, voluminous as a tent. She directed the beam of the lantern in such a way as to encourage a thorough inspection.
Then lower yet again. Now the light shone up onto the inner surfaces of her thighs and over her colossal tree-trunk legs. There was a great deal of sweat and moisture on the inner surfaces of her thighs. Her legs were straddled wide apart. Between her feet on the floor was a cardboard placard, mounted for reading. I read:
N°39: THE NIGHT, THE BODY
It was like a gigantic tourist display. A mountain of flesh on a truly remarkable scale. To me, it was no more sexual than the Grand Canyon or the Niagara Falls. But it was meant to be.
Melestrina gave a sort of heave that sent the muscles rippling all over her body.
“Begin!” she said.
“Begin what?”
She raised the lantern to face-level once more.
“Take me!” she boomed. “Possess me! Have your utmost will!”
I edged out from the top of the cellar steps and into the hallway.
“Er, I don’t know…”
“Be masterful with me!” She reached up with her other arm and swept her fingers through her long black hair. It fell like a curtain across her face. “Have no mercy! Crush me to your breast!”
Still facing her, I backed away down the hall. She stepped out from the niche and advanced after me. Her chin jutted forward like the prow of a battleship.
“No matter how strong! How cruel! Dominate me! I submit to your force!”
I turned and fled down the hall. She lumbered along after me. She had her lips puckered and her arms stretched out to embrace.
I reached the bottom of the staircase and started up the stairs. In great leaps I bounded upwards, taking three steps at a time.
“I can no more resist! Desire must have its way!”
She had come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, resuming her previous hips-forward legs-apart posture. Then suddenly another voice called out:
“Where did he go? Silly Mr Smythe!”
It was Craylene Caulkiss, coming up from the cellar. I caught a momentary glimpse of her through the banister railings. Then I came to the top of the stairs and raced along the corridor. There was a glow of candlelight shining out through the nursery door.
Compared to Craylene’s cellar and Mr Caulkiss’s laboratory – compared to the rest of the house, the nursery seemed like a place of refuge. I ran right in and closed the door behind. There was a lock on the door and a key in the keyhole. I turned the key and heard the metal tongue slide home.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The door was made of solid oak and the lock was a sturdy old-fashioned affair. Even Melestrina wouldn’t be able to barge her way through that! I was safe in here, I thought.
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Fifty
I went across to my bunk, intending to sit down. The candle burned in a saucer on the mantel above the fireplace. Still it didn’t occur to me that there had been no candle in the nursery before. But I got a shock when I saw the parcel on my bed.
It was enormous: a lumpy irregular shape about four feet long and four feet round. It was wrapped in gaily-coloured wrapping paper. Pinned to the front was a neat white card. I opened the card and read:
To Mr. Martin Smythe!
Happy Xmas!
Then I remembered Mr Quode and what he had said about giving me a Christmas present.
So this was it! I wasn’t sure that I wanted to open it. But I made a small tear in the paper and peeped inside. Inside was something smooth and pale and pink.
I had to find out then. I ripped through the wrapping and hauled it all off in one go. There inside was Mr Quode, stark naked. He had made me a present of himself!
He lay crouched on all fours, with his arms and legs tucked in to make the smallest possible size. He had a white ribbon with a bow tied round his middle, and a blue ribbon with a rosette tied round his neck. A green sprig of holly was fixed between his buttocks.
At first he was completely motionless. He had his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face. He was so pink he seemed to be blushing. He gave a long low sigh of pleasure.
I sprang away across the room. �
��Get out of here!!” I shouted.
There was instant pandemonium. It was as though my shout had been the signal they were all waiting for. From every part of the house the inhabitants of Morbing Vyle let loose a cacophony of cries and howls and yells and screams.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRAGGGGHHHHHHH!” That was Mr Caulkiss roaring away somewhere below my feet. Obviously his laboratory was directly underneath the nursery.
“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” That was Craylene at the nursery door. She scratched and scrabbled and shrieked.
“DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!” That was Melestrina thundering through the wall. She seemed to have gone into an adjoining room.
“Hiff! Haff! Huff!” That was the distant bark of Gambels, joining in from his kennel by the front door.
Mr Quode joined in as well. He rose up on the bed and burbled at the top of his voice: “Happy Christmas, Mr Smythe! Happy happy Christmas!”
I didn’t know which direction to turn. The voices were coming at me from all sides. And then things started happening on all sides too.
First it was Mr Quode. He slid off the bed and moved around by the wall. His naked corpulent flesh heaved and rolled and slithered upon itself, as though stirred by some unspeakable slug-like ecstasy. He was working his way towards me, blowing kisses as he came.
I retreated to the other side of the nursery. Now I had my back against the window. But immediately there was a tapping on the glass. I spun around and found myself confronted by the words:
N°42: THE PASSIONATE PUDENDA OF MELESTRINA QUODE
It was another of Melestrina’s placards, held up against the glass on the end of a pole. It was illuminated by a lantern also attached to the pole. Evidently the pole extended across from the window of the adjoining room. Melestrina must have been leaning out holding it.
I was beginning to panic. I turned back to the room, just in time for another bizarre sight. There was something sliding in under the door, something flat and red. It took me a minute to realise that it was a piece of raw steak. Craylene was propelling her meat into the nursery, posting it in through the gap under the door.
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